


Just Like Always

by Qpenguin98



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Self Harm, im garbage im so sorry, no relationships here, theres fluff coming hold out for me guys, theyre bros, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:24:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qpenguin98/pseuds/Qpenguin98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk closes the kit, places it on the ground, and tackles you with a hug, squeezing you so tight. You automatically wrap your arms around him. He'll freak out, you know it. Fingers card through your hair, little whispers that are meant to be reassuring but only end in you crying again. He tries to pull away, but you whimper a no, and he stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Always

Your heart is pounding and the air won't come into your lungs right. The music that usually helps is pounding in your ears doing nothing. You can't even concentrate on the coding project in front of you. Your pink eyes blink rapidly, trying to clear the spots from vision. You see Dirk, sitting next to you, mouth words. "Are you okay?" his lips ask. You nod quickly, smiling. Shaking hands lift the student ID as an ask for the restroom. Your teacher waves a hand, and you grab your purse and practically sprint from the room, running for the nearest bathroom, thanking everything it's empty. The stall closes and locks, leaving you ripping out your earbuds and heaving for air. This rush of emotion shouldn't have happened in class, but you think attacks happen anywhere. That's all you can think as you go through this hatred, trying hard to make yourself believe your friends care. That they don't just deal with you because they can't say no. These attempts fail as you let out a single sob, rummaging for the small razor in your bag. You close your eyes for the first one, feeling the slightest bit of relief rush through your head. The second stings, but it pulls the weight from your chest. This continues until your body feels almost empty, numbing your brain enough for you to go back to class. They aren't deep, so you wipe up the blood with toilet paper, pulling down your sleeve to over your hands. Your teacher raises and eyebrow at your time, but says nothing. You sit down. 

"Lalonde, what was that." Dirk's staring at you.

"Nothing, I just had to pee. Gotta know my bathroom habits, Dirk?" "You were gone for twenty minutes. That ain't bathroom habit." "I had a 48 oz. Coke this morning. Now drop it." "Roxy-" "Drop. It."

He does. You finish the coding project well before class ends, so you put your earbuds back in, listening to the separation of the drums to the bass. The guitar to the vocals. That stupid fucking cowbell that somehow fits in with the slight piano in the background. But when the final day bell rings, Dirk practically drags you out of the school. He's your ride home, but you don't want to get in the car. He'll figure it out.

"Dirk, I think I'm gonna walk home today."

"Roxy just get in the car."

You do, too spent for an argument, not bothering to buckle the seat belt. He gets in, gives you a look, and starts the car. His driving's fluid, no jerking movements, crazy turns. It freaks you out a little, the way he drives. You start thinking about how he knows something's up, he noticed your behavior. He knows and he hates you and he'll hate it and yell and he KNOWS oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck he knows he knows he kno-

You don't realize he's stopped until he's taking your hand, looking at you worriedly, saying words you can't hear. Sound comes back slowly and you catch his words in the middle of his sentence. "-eathe Roxy I need you to breathe, okay? In and out. Breathe, please just breathe." So you obey, taking shuddery breaths until it's back to normal. He squeezes your hand and smiles softly. You look out the window and see he's driven to your favorite place, this little hidden forest road that opens up at a river look out. Your throat seizes, your eyes water, and you don't try to stop that cut off noise that comes from your throat. The choppy, ugly sound of crying. Dirk fumbles around for words before getting out of the car and opening your door, pulling you over to the look out bench. You sob loudly, clinging to him and hiding your face so he can't see. You doubted him. Thought he didn't care, that he hated you, but he remembered this place you showed him. Remembered you talking endlessly about it over and over and over again. You just want to be in that river. Soaked up with water, no one remembering this horrible, horrible moment. How horrible you are, doubting your friends. That they don't care. Of course they do. Dirk's rubbing your hands as you crying turns to hiccups, pressing your face against his shoulder, making whispered apologies about the makeup on his shirt. He shakes his head, and you begin to think he's inspecting your hand more than caressing it.

"What's with the blood on your hand? Did you get hurt? Cut yourself on something?"

Your back tenses at the question, and you hear in the difference of his breathing that he noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. He's probably calculating right now what happened, he'll know without you saying a word oh god he'll-

"Roxy?"

"Heh, yeah I got cut. Cut on the fact that I'm not pregnant. Hell yeah, lady biology!"

He laughs a little bit, and you think you've fooled him, but Dirk always was good at acting. He grabs your wrist quickly and you gasp in pain. You squirm, trying to get out of his hand, but he has an iron grip and this friction is making you groan, tears pricking at your eyes. His expression wavers and he lets go. You push back off him, pulling your arm in close.

"What's under your sleeve, Rox?"

"Nothing, just a bruise, ran into the door on the way out. You were dragging me around so fast I couldn't control my arm and WHAM the door frame hit... it..."

Dirk's taken off his shades and you're buckling under his stare. He takes your arm, rubbing your hand out of the stress fist you've made, sliding his fingers to the hem of the shirt, pushing it up gently as you turn your face away. You hear a short breath of air and then he's up on his feet, running for the car. He's leaving, you're sure of it, until he comes back with a first aid kit. You choke on a laugh, and he gives you a pained look.

"It's not clean. School bathrooms are...not great Roxy. And I mean, shit it needs wrapping. A lot. Those are deep, jesus christ."

You look down and holy shit they are. You thought they were small, tiny, they looked like it in the bathroom. You flip up your sleeve, and sure enough, there's blood on the inside and thank god you wore a black hoodie today. He dabs at them with a cotton ball and you don't expect the sting from what he put on it. You yelp a little, covering your mouth. He murmurs an apology, keeping on with the cotton. You grit your teeth and look at him, sitting next to you, medical kit on his lap, eyes hard without the shades on. He wraps it slowly, taping it. "Other arm?" You shake your head. You kept to one arm today. Sometimes it spread. Arms, legs, stomach. Anywhere you could conceivably cover well.

Dirk closes the kit, places it on the ground, and tackles you with a hug, squeezing you so tight. You automatically wrap your arms around him. He'll freak out, you know it. Fingers card through your hair, little whispers that are meant to be reassuring but only end in you crying again. He tries to pull away, but you whimper a no, and he stays. "How long?" "Two... two years." There's no reaction but his arms tightening. "Lalonde...why didn't you tell me?! What the hell happened? I-are you okay? What the fuck kind of question is that, of course you're not." You shake your head. "Wasn't important. Just some attention seeking bull. Statistical teenager sitting in front of you." "Roxy, NO. Stop, please. The fact you've kept it up for two fucking years makes it pretty clear it's not attention seeking. And god, you're not a statistic, you're Roxy mother fucking Lalonde. What happened? And can I in any way fix it. Because this," he motions towards you wrist, "isn't fixing it."

You push him off of you, taking in a couple of deep breaths. "It's... complicated. I mean on one hand it feels like you all hate me. Don't interrupt me here because I know you don't. And on the other hand I hate myself so much for thinking that because I know you don't. And look at this. It's pathetic. I get some rush of emotion and my head starts spinning and I can't breathe right, and just bleeding makes it better. It's awful and horrible and a fucking sad excuse for a coping mechanism, isn't it." You're shaking your head again, eyes scrunched closed. He pulls you against him, your back flush against his chest and stomach.

"I just wish you'd told me, Rox. I could've helped somehow. Still can. You gotta stop. It's fucking dangerous." "I know but... I know what's good and what's not." "Clearly not by the fact you were surprised about how bad they were." You hate that he's right. You can't argue with him.

"It's hard. So hard. Stopping? It's impossible."

He hugs you closer, resting his head in the space between your neck and shoulder. You look over through the tree branches out at the river. "Not impossible. And you're not going to do it alone. Fuck that idea, Roxy. I know it'll be hard, and you'll do it again. A lot more times, probably, but a little bit less, okay? Just a little less. Like, message me. Just do it. Whenever you need to. I don't care if it's four in the fucking morning. Wake me up. I'll do it, to help you."

You nod. Dirk knows it's hard. Knows you'll end up with that razor in your hand again, messaging him before hand or after hand. But he understands it. And the least you can do is oblige. "Let's just stay here for a bit, okay? Look at the river, lots of bro cuddles, sound good?" And it really, really does. You snuggle back into him, dropping your head on his chest and staring at the river. He hums softly a song you've never heard, but that's okay. He probably makes it better anyway. Just like always.

**Author's Note:**

> so  
> have I told you all how much I hate putting stories up from my tablet?  
> copy paste and REFORMAT  
> also  
> the title  
> jesus  
> I couldnt think of anything at all


End file.
